


Of Notifications and Direct Messages

by monopoisoner



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Phone Sex, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22032001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monopoisoner/pseuds/monopoisoner
Summary: “Sorry. I couldn’t stop myself.” Youngjo leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. A sense of deja vu came over the dancer. It was the same position as before, but this time it was hello rather than goodbye. “Hello, Woong.”
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 22
Kudos: 210





	Of Notifications and Direct Messages

> _pls9ravn Retweeted your Tweet_

Hwanwoong looked at the notification on his phone, his hands shaking with excitement. Ravn had seen his choreography — and probably liked it, given the fact he retweeted it. Or maybe he was just being polite. He _had_ asked before he posted it, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. Thankfully, he’d responded positively saying he was excited and would be waiting for him to upload it. If he had notifications on for whenever Ravn posted something, that just meant he was a big fan of his music.

And Dongju would call him a big fat liar.

If he had a small crush on the indie producer, that was his problem. He wasn’t delusional enough to think it would amount to anything. He liked his music, liked his voice, and liked his face — or parts of his face. That being said, he probably needed to stop saving every single selca the man posted. You could barely see anything with how he wore either hat or mask, sometimes both.

It still didn’t stop Hwanwoong from saving the obscure selca he posted three days later.

  


> **ravn:** I should make you do a choreo for all my songs.

The message came in a few hours after the retweet. Hwanwoong sat on his bed, drying his hair off with a towel as he scrolled through his SNS. The day had been long, with a class slow on the uptake and his own performance feeling subpar. The compliment was the perfect thing to say to cheer him up. Few other words could’ve made him happier.

> **woong:** if you uploaded more often, then i might.
> 
> **ravn:** was that a jab at my activity? ouch. you don’t mind me dming you right?

He didn’t (the opposite really), and said as much.

> **ravn:** ah that’s great. i wanted to talk to you for a while now but wasn’t really sure how.
> 
> **woong:** send me more pics of sunny and i'm your dm bot forever
> 
> **ravn:** isnt that kinda cheap? lol
> 
> **woong:** i didnt say i was pricey

He barely noticed the hours pass as they exchanged messages. He’d had a feeling he’d like him. His personality showed through in his rare personal posts, though 90% of the time his tweets consisted of emojis. But it was a different thing altogether when Ravn was messaging him without filter, letting the typos fly unnoticed, using memes and emojis without restraint. He was more casual than he came off as on SNS. Cuter in a way? He thought he’d be on the colder side, but there was a lot of warmth in his messages as they spoke about everything from dogs to their favorite albums. In those few hours, he learnt more about the enigmatic man than he had in the six months he’d followed his work.

He stifled a yawn, fighting his heavy eyelids. A peek at the time showed it was almost 3am. Way past his usual bedtime. He’d be sleep-deprived in class later. He debated just not sleeping at all, then thought the better of it. Tomorrow was going to be enough of a challenge without his own fatigue in the equation. 

> **woong:** i have work in a few hours so i need to go to bed. catch you later?
> 
> **ravn:** ah right. you mentioned you’re a dance instructor. you’re gonna be too tired for class. sleep well then, woong.

  


> **ravn:** woong! was wondering if you wanted to meet up? I’m going to be in your city for a trip next week

Hwanwoong stared at the DM in disbelief. He was at the studio he worked at. Class just finished, with the students still gathering their things from various corners of the room. Music blared and conversation echoed, but they might as well be nonexistent to him.

“Geonhak!” He practically ran out, jostling against people in his rush to get to the studio just across his own. The door slammed open with such force that the other teacher had to check to see if it hadn’t left a dent in the wall. As it was it looked like Hwanwoong was attempting to bash his head against the mirrors. A terrible idea for multiple reasons.

“Calm down, Woong. What happened?”

“Ravn’s coming over next week.”

“Who?”

What came out of Hwanwoong’s mouth was a jumble of words, but the other dance instructor managed to decipher it. Honestly, it didn’t matter to the dancer if Geonhak even understood. He just needed to tell _someone_. His coworker was the nearest available pair of ears. He plugged into the room’s speakers and played a few of his tracks, all the while babbling as he tried to explain who Ravn was. After a month of exchanging messages with the producer, he knew him as a friend as well as a fan. Geonhak wasn’t interested, but he indulged him as Woong knew he would.

“Ok, got it. Now get out, I have a class to teach.”

He took the dismissal gracefully, grateful that he’d even half-listened. Woong waved goodbye, greeting the gathering students as he left the room. He opened the conversation again, fingers deftly tapping against the screen to reply.

> **woong:** of course!! got a place to stay already?

He made his way back to his studio, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He had another hour and a half until his next class. The dancer often took these gaps to prepare videos for his channel. Today he’d planned on perfecting his latest choreography, but with Ravn’s announcement, he was a bit distracted.

It didn’t stop him from trying his best to practice, but he’d be lying if he said he was focused. The moment a notification went off, he practically made a run for the device.

> **ravn:** not yet. i was gonna ask if you knew anywhere reasonable
> 
> **woong:** my bed has a pullout, lol. you could sleep there

He’d meant it as a joke. The small bubble indicating Ravn was typing popped up, then disappeared for a few seconds. Then it came back, and shortly after a new message came in.

> **ravn:** most places are booked or charging ridiculously and i can’t really afford it. If you’re serious at all i’ll take it.
> 
> **woong:** ah yeah there’s some sort of big sports event soon so hotels are full. promise you aren’t some sort of crazy killer?
> 
> **ravn:** i promise i’ll only bring blunt weapons so you at least have a chance to run away
> 
> **woong:** i appreciate the thought. you can sleep over, i don’t mind.

As the message sent, he thought about it. He’d be a mess the days leading up to and during Ravn’s visit, but no. He wouldn’t mind his presence in his apartment.

> **ravn:** ahh great! i have to do some work, i’ll tell you more after.
> 
> **woong:** okay. i’ll write down the details of your reservation for casa woong under the name ravn
> 
> **ravn:** lol. make that name kim youngjo

Woong breathed in, then out, attempting to keep calm. He knew his name now. Hell, he was being told to call him by his name now. He was privy to knowledge few others had access to. It wasn’t much, but fuck all if it didn’t make him feel special.

He put down his phone before he started typing his name like a third-grader with a crush.

  


The next few days passed in a daze. His body felt sore. He’d spent most of yesterday attacking every nook and cranny of his small city apartment, clearing it of dust and grime. He was pretty sure his neighbors thought he’d lost it when they saw him take out the trash thrice in one day when he barely managed it once a week.

Hwanwoong exchanged information with Ra—Youngjo a week ago. Somehow, he’d gone from admiring as a fan to picking him up from the subway station near his house. He tried to focus on something else, _anything_ else, but not even the comments on his recent upload could hold his attention. He scrolled through them mindlessly while sitting on his bed. Usually, he took the time to respond to some during the first few hours, but not this time. He could barely register the words, much less come up with a coherent reply.

He posted a selca with his new purple hair, curious to see how his followers would react to it. In a reply, he attached a link for those who hadn’t seen his new video yet. The dancer watched the comments fly. A friendly debate broke out about which hair color suited him best, so he amused himself with that.

After a few videos and idly browsing through online shops, a check on the time revealed he had half an hour before his guest arrived.

> **woong:** im heading to the station now. the convenience store should be near exit 2.

Youngjo replied with a link to his selca tweet.

> **ravn:** at least you’ll be easy to spot. just got on. pray i don’t get lost transferring between lines. 
> 
> **woong:** if you do your reservation’s revoked sorry

He grabbed a light sweater to pull over his shirt, noting the cooling weather, and headed out. The streets were busy, but not overly crowded. Hwanwoong faced no trouble weaving through them. Eventually, he reached the main intersection three blocks over. He took the stairs going down the subway station, then turned left to slip into the small store at the foot of the steps. There was barely enough room to squeeze between the aisles. If Dongju or Keonhee were here, they would probably end up hitting the merchandise off the shelves with their long limbs. As it was, he struggled not to catch on anything as he went to the refrigerators to get himself a drink.

“Hwanwoong!” The dancer turned away from the cashier as he paid. Just at the entrance of the store was a tall figure, a bulky duffel bag in hand. If he even attempted to bring that in, he was liable to knock over half the establishment’s contents.

“Stay out there, I’m almost done.” He pocketed the change and exited, stepping around a shopping basket containing random snacks.

A purple bucket hat sat on Ravn’s head, shielding half his face from his study. Hwanwoong never thought about it before but now that he was standing in front of him, he was... tall. He had to tilt his chin way up to even meet his eyes. Youngjo shifted, tilting his head as if to study him as well. He was at the brink of being embarrassed and trying to fill the air with small talk when Youngjo spoke again.

“You’re shorter than I expected.”

That broke the trance, replacing the tension with irritation.

“Is that really how you’re going to greet me?”

The producer grinned, pulling off the hat and revealing messy wavy black hair. This was the first time Hwanwoong had ever seen his full face. He both cursed and thanked the gods for it. Cursed because he was better looking than he’d expected, and thanked because he would’ve been crushing way harder than he already did if he’d known. As it was his stomach was doing acrobatics.

“Sorry, you’re right.” His voice didn’t even hold a hint of remorse; Hwanwoong glared at him until he burst out laughing. “Ok, I won’t mention it again.”

He managed a short good-natured smile in response. Just as he was about to lead the way out, he stopped in his tracks.

“Wait, put on your hat again.” Hwanwoong brought out his phone, angled himself on the screen such that they were both visible.

“What are you doing?” He posed anyway, quickly realizing he was taking a photo. After a few moments, he moved away, studying the results. The dancer’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. They turned out well. After running his favorite filter through it, he turned the screen to face Youngjo.

“I’m posting this to twitter. I wanna see how chaotic it’ll get. You’re okay with that, right?”

The black-haired man brought out his own phone, signaling his agreement. He debated briefly about the caption, then settled on a slightly humorous one. Almost instantly after posting, he got the notification of pls9ravn retweeting it.

“I don’t remember agreeing to a dance lesson.”

“It’ll be fun. Plus, I’m a good teacher.” He started leading the way out, climbing the stairs two at a time. Not that it mattered; Youngjo caught up to him easily on his long legs. Both of them shielded their eyes as they acclimatized to the sunlight.

“Let’s go dump your bag at my place, then we can go ahead and explore.”

“Where are we going?”

Hwanwoong smiled, grabbed his hand and began tugging him along.

“We’ll figure it out as we go.”

  


Hwanwoong hadn’t expected it, but he was enjoying Youngjo’s presence more than he’d thought. Earlier today he’d said he’d tag along on his class. He’d expected him to sit and watch, just satisfying his curiosity about his day job. He hadn’t expected him to actually try. He thought he’d be fumbling, struggling to catch up. Instead, the younger man had to stop himself from staring, mesmerized by the easy confidence in his movements.

“You can dance?”

They were resting at a cafe, their feet exhausted from the class and walking around the city afterward. Today was their second day together. Hwanwoong was balancing the glasses on the tray while Youngjo held their food. He was relieved to find a seat fairly quickly. The cafe was a trendy one, and he’d been meaning to try their milk tea and doughnuts. He just couldn’t find someone to go with him... until now. That being said, Youngjo stuck out like a sore thumb in such a cutesy location. He couldn’t help snapping a picture before continuing the conversation.

“Anyway, your dancing?” Hwanwoong took a sip of tea.

“I was part of a dance group back in high school.”

“We need to record something together before you leave.”

Youngjo chuckled derisively at that, then began sipping his drink. Hwanwoong turned to his milk tea, excited at the prospect of finally trying the drink. They settled into a comfortable silence. He hadn’t expected to find that so quickly with Youngjo. Everything seemed to happen fast with him: their online friendship, the physical affection between them—

_His own budding feelings._

Hwanwoong squashed the thought before it could go further, taking a long sip of his drink. When he looked up, Youngjo’s eyes were on him as he enjoyed his own beverage. He didn’t think anything of it at first. It was when he started on the doughnut that he realized the black-haired man was blatantly staring... again. He met his eyes squarely, intending to make him realize what he was doing.

Ravn held eye contact so easily that it was Woong who had to look away. He chewed the doughnut, the taste barely registering. His mind was occupied by his gaze. There was something personal about the way he looked at him. When he looked up, Youngjo was still staring.

“You really shouldn’t stare at people when they eat.”

The reprimand was weak; all he got was a heart-stopping grin in response. He turned his gaze to the window. He had to look at something else or else he was going to lose it. As it was his cheeks were stained red.

“Is it good?”

Dark brown eyes turned from the glass to the person in front of him. Despite his distrust of his own self-control, he knew he couldn’t keep avoiding his gaze forever. He nodded, about to take another bite, when the producer spoke again.

“Can I try?”

“Of course.” He held out the half-eaten doughnut, expecting Youngjo to tear off a piece with his fingers. The dancer almost dropped it onto the table when the elder leaned in, directly biting off a piece. He chewed, closing his eyes as if to savor the taste. His heart in his throat, Woong stared at the doughnut again.

“Ah, I should have asked if you’re okay with that kind of thing.” He looked chagrined. The dancer simply kept staring at the fried pastry, dark brown eyes studying it as if his very life depended on it. “I’ll eat the rest and buy you a new one if you want?”

“No, it’s fine.” To prove his point, he took a big bite — and tried not to think about how Youngjo’s mouth was in the same position only moments before.

  


When Hwanwoong woke up the next day, he wanted to snuggle closer to the warmth surrounding him. He felt safe, an arm wrapped around his waist and a long leg draped over his own—

The realization pried his eyes open. He found himself staring into a gray shirt. He knew the scent; he’d smelled it a few times during yesterday’s walk. Woong wanted to bury his face in the chest in front of him but resisted the urge. At some point during the night, he’d fallen off his bed and into the pullout beside his guest. He should’ve seen this coming. It had happened before. This wouldn’t be a problem if this were Dongju or Keonhee, but no.

This was Ravn. Kim Youngjo.

Desperately, he tried to extricate himself from the situation without waking him up. When he shifted, the producer only clung onto him tighter. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it, but he didn’t know how he was going to explain—

“Woong, stop moving. You’re a better teddy bear asleep.”

The dancer froze. He didn’t dare look up; he was pretty sure a sleepy-eyed Youngjo was lethal and he didn’t need that kind of danger so early in the morning. With an aggressive shove, he pushed the bigger man off the bed. Considering this was the pullout, it wasn’t a far fall to the ground. A few inches at most. Woong could hear his laughter. He got up, made sure to kick Ravn lightly as he did, and headed over to the bathroom.

Youngjo was still smiling when he got out, fried rice on the table. It was hard to stay mad at the person feeding you. They shared breakfast on the small couch, their elbows hitting each other in the small space, but neither minding.

“What’s on the agenda for my last day?”

Hwanwoong tried not to focus on the sadness the last two words brought him. He chewed slowly, buying himself some time. He didn’t really have a plan yet. Remembering yesterday’s discovery, he brought up the idea of a collab video again.

“You wanna record that dance together?”

“Still on that?”

“I’m going to keep trying.”

He could tell Youngjo was warming up to the idea; short as their time together was, he had some tells that were easy to read.

“If you don’t like it, we can just trash the entire thing.”

“Fine.”

With a triumphant yell, he scarfed down his food. Youngjo said he’d just follow after his turn in the shower, so he left the apartment ahead of time. He had no class today, but no one was scheduled to use his usual studio. The management loved him. They gave him leeway to use it as he pleased as long as he disturbed no one else.

When the producer walked in thirty minutes later, Hwanwoong was ready with the choreography for another one of Ravn’s songs. It was something he’d been working on since he’d been given permission to use his tracks. He just hadn’t expected Youngjo to actually be there to see him dance, much less learn it himself.

“We’ll just use a minute thirty of it since we only have a few hours to learn it.” He launched into his one-on-one lesson with the taller man. Woong forgot who he was with; when he was truly invested in the dance, it was easy. He focused only on the choreography: the flow of their movements, the visual impact of their formation. They easily overtook his mind. It was Youngjo who told him to break for lunch and rest for half an hour after. Even as he ate, his mind was still on the dance. He didn’t notice Youngjo’s stare this time around, too focused with the task at hand.

Soon they were filming different takes of the choreography. After five attempts, they finally called it quits, collapsing onto the hardwood floor in exhaustion. When their eyes met through the reflection, they both laughed.

“Never doing this with you again.”

“Weak.”

“I write songs not dance.”

“You’re good at both.”

Youngjo flushed scarlet. The dancer found it incredibly endearing. Hwanwoong stood up, holding out his hand. The elder took it, allowing himself to be pulled up off the floor.

“I’m a mess.” Hwanwoong looked at him, and had to agree. His face was drenched in sweat, and a faint blush remained from both the exertion and his compliment. He looked away. Why Woong found him attractive when he was sweating gallons, he couldn’t explain. Or he could, but he tried not to think too deeply about it.

“There are showers here. We’ll use them and then grab dinner early so you can head home and pack.” It was bitter reminding himself of it, but the dancer knew it was better this way. He couldn’t grow used to his presence. He stalked off towards the door, the high from filming already fading away.

“Wait, Hwanwoong!”

Purple hair bounced as he turned towards Youngjo, who was following after.

“Thank you for today. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.”

That was enough to ease the ache, at least temporarily. He smiled, genuinely pleased.

“You’re welcome. Now let’s both shower before Geonhak throws us both out for stinking up the place.”

  


Youngjo packed up in silence. Hwanwoong helped out when he could, but for the most part all the energy was gone, replaced with a feeling of loneliness. It was stupid; he hadn’t even left yet. But already he knew he’d miss the small touches of Youngjo’s presence in his apartment. 

When it was almost time for them to leave, the taller man offered to go alone. He refused, not wanting to miss out a single minute of their time together. Even if the cab ride to the station was quiet, their words sitting heavy in their throats, he preferred it to staying home alone that night.

He didn’t want to say goodbye yet. There was still so much he wanted to share with Youngjo, so much he wanted to do. Three days together were gone in a blink of an eye. In those same three days, he found someone he felt like he’d known for three years. Something about them just clicked. He didn’t want to lose that connection.

They stood in silence at the train station, the taller man checking his phone one last time for the digital ticket. There weren’t many people milling about; Youngjo was catching the last train out.

“I guess it’s time for me to go.” By some unspoken agreement, they moved to a quiet corner of the station, partially hidden by the shadow of a support pillar. Hwanwoong couldn’t bring himself to smile for their farewell. He was the opposite; he was on the verge of tears. The idea that he wasn’t going to be seeing him tomorrow hurt more than he’d expected. He didn’t realize he could give his heart to someone that fast.

Hwanwoong was expecting Youngjo to pull him into a hug. He braced himself for it. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to memorize his warmth for the days to come. But instead, he felt the soft touch of lips against his own. The shock was almost enough to make him pull away, but strong arms held him close. He didn’t fight it after that. He leaned into him, desperately wishing for more time.

Youngjo broke the kiss but leaned down to press their foreheads together. A soft smile was on his lips; Hwanwoong couldn’t help but smile back. Youngjo briefly pecked him on the mouth again before finally pulling away. Already the purple-haired man felt bereft without his presence by his side.

“I’ll see you next time.”

Hwanwoong wasn’t going to cry; he would only be a 4-hour train ride away. He could easily buy a ticket for tomorrow if he was desperate.

“Goodbye, Youngjo.”

“Bye. Call me when you get home.”

That brought another small smile to the shorter man’s lips. “I will. Now get moving.” He waved as Youngjo disappeared to the loading areas outside. Still, he stayed, only leaving once the board updated to say his train had departed.

  


“Youngjo, I think I’m going to bed.”

“So early? That’s unusual.”

Hwanwoong lay on his back, trying his best to recite the multiplication table in his head. Their conversations were innocent enough; even after that kiss at the train station, they were still more friends than... anything else really. Were they dating? Did that one kiss make them romantically involved?

Regardless, it opened doors for Hwanwoong. Since then, his imagination was in overdrive, fueling his body’s needs. It was getting harder everyday as their phone calls occurred almost nightly. He was pretty sure he could get off on Youngjo’s voice alone. Probably didn’t help that he’d gone out drinking with Dongju and Geonhak earlier. Alcohol and horniness wasn’t a good mix for self-control.

“Woong-ah, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just tired out from drinking with a couple of friends.”

Youngjo’s soft chuckle went straight through him. Christ, if he didn’t get off the phone now he was going to start jacking off to him.

“Should I let you sleep then?”

“No, I want to listen to your voice a little longer.”

He slapped his face hard enough for the phone to pick up on it. Did he really just say that? Hwanwoong sat up, staring at his reflection in the mirror at the foot of the bed. He glared almost accusingly at his reflection. Stupid. Why the fuck did he answer the call?

Because he was weak to whatever Youngjo asked. He made a face of disgust.

“... Woong? You there?”

He’d tuned Youngjo out in his panic.

“I’m here, sorry. What did you say?”

“I was offering to keep talking to you until you fell asleep.”

“Bad idea.” He lay back down on the bed, suddenly feeling weak at Youngjo’s suggestion. The fact he’d even offered was sweet, which made him feel even guiltier. If the guilt was edged with a little pain from his one-sided attraction, then that was expected.

“How so?” Hwanwoong heard the squeak of a chair in the background.

“It’s stupid and embarrassing.”

“I’ll trade. I’ll say something embarrassing in exchange.”

Hwanwoong remained silent. Curiosity urged him to take the deal, but common sense stopped him. Whatever Youngjo was going to admit, it probably wouldn’t be half as embarrassing as admitting he got turned on by his voice.

“... Woong? You get to judge if it’s good enough.” He said it jokingly, but the dancer knew he would follow through with it if he agreed. _Shit._ The temptation kept growing until a soft “fine” left his lips.

“Ok. My favorite part of the day is our phone call. I always look forward to it.”

A shot of pure pleasure filled his heart. His face grew heated, but he couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his lips. He’d known Youngjo was openly affectionate, but to say that without hesitation was a bit... He didn’t know what to think other than it was completely in character for Youngjo.

“Hwanwoong? Is it good enough?”

“No. How the hell can you say stuff like that with a straight face?” As stupidly happy it made him, it still didn’t compare to the answer he had to give. He wasn’t sure if anything would match up.

“Tough. Fine. Remember when I was leaving at the train station?”

“Of course.” He had the memory branded onto his brain.

“I wanted to keep kissing you to the point I was willing to miss the train.”

A long-suffering sigh escaped the younger man. He curled to his side in defeat. He would never win over Youngjo. There was so much sweetness in his words that he knew he couldn’t give him anything but complete honesty. It just wouldn’t sit well with him.

“Youngjo, you don’t play fair.”

“What do you mean? Are you going to tell me now?” The soft teasing he could hear in his voice softened his heart even as it riled his body up.

“Whenever I hear your voice, my mind starts thinking of... things.”

“Woong-ah.” Patience laced with amusement colored his voice. “You can say the exact same thing about everyone. What exactly do you think of?”

“I get turned on when I listen to you.” He blurted it out before he could stop himself, his words rushed and stilted. There was a pause at the other end of the line. Hwanwoong almost disconnected right there and then. The only thing that stopped him was the sound of Youngjo shifting around in his room. He hadn’t dropped the phone in shock and/or disgust yet. He was too nice to do that. Right now he was probably thinking of a way to let him down without hurting his feelings.

“Sorry. Just forget I said that, if you can.” Hwanwoong hated the idea he’d made the older man uncomfortable. “I’ll just go to sleep —”

“What do you think of?”

“What?”

“You said you get turned on. What do you think of?” Hwanwoong felt like he’d entered an alternate dimension. Was this some sort of fever dream brought on by the alcohol? His brain was telling him to stop before he embarrassed himself, but something in Youngjo’s voice compelled him to answer.

“You lick your lips when you’re thinking. I’ve always wanted to follow it with my own. Wanted to bite your lips.” The low groan that came out of the phone speakers made him harder than he already was. That was the noise he’d always imagined, always fantasized about. He didn’t think he’d get to hear it in real life.

“Keep going, kitten.”

The pet name made Woong flush red. The way he said it had images of Youngjo whispering it into his ear as his hands traveled south. He could hear his breathing; it was harsh, the calm energy he normally associated with the producer gone.

“Your hands. Long fingers, but strong.” Too far gone to care, he pulled down his pants and boxers. “I always think of them touching me. I thought I was going to go insane during those three days. I love your hands.”

Youngjo’s laughter sounded husky and sexy. If he’d just been closer to the edge, it might have just sent him over. As it was he couldn’t stop the shudder than ran through him at the sound.

“I thought of you too.” He could hear the soft slide of a zipper; the thought of the black-haired male taking off his pants forced a whimper out his mouth. He wanted to taste him, wanted to ride him — the images going through his head made him crazy. It was Youngjo’s voice that pulled him out of his self-indulgent fantasy.

“When you danced to Sex in the Ceiling? I wanted to touch your ass so badly.” He had to start touching himself or he was about to go crazy. “The hands you like so much wanted to open you up, go deep and drive you insane. Will you do it for me now, Woong?”

His body moved automatically. He fished out a bottle of lube from his bedside drawer, already opened from the times he’d done the exact thing Ravn was asking him to do. His breathing must have clued him in as the black-haired man’s next words were instructions. He didn’t think he was that loud, but Youngjo praised him, complimenting each soft moan and gasp.

Hwanwoong had never gotten off on his fingers alone, but he was getting damn close with Youngjo whispering in his ear.

“Youngjo, I’m so close.” His words were barely audible, more air than sound. It made him happy that the black-haired man was the same way, his breathing coming in short audible gasps.

“Then come, kitten. I’ll be right there with you.” All it took was two pumps from his hand until his world went blank. He could hear Ravn’s moans on the phone: high-pitched, whiny, needy. He desperately wished he could see him. He was sweating, there was come on his shirt and sheets, but all he could think of was Youngjo’s state in his own bedroom.

They were silent for a minute or so, each catching their breath.

“Next time let’s do this on video call.” He was gasping for air, but now a smile played on his lips.

“Fuck that. Next time we’re doing it in the same bed.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, let’s. Good night, Youngjo.”

“Clean up before you pass out.” The musician teased, but Woong knew there was a very real possibility of it happening to him. Already his eyes were drooping shut. “Night, Woong.”

Minutes after the call disconnected, he was still smiling.

  


Despite the promise, they could only use their phones. Youngjo argued that he would probably grow insane if he had to watch him through a screen. Hwanwoong was inclined to agree, so the phone calls remained. He was frustrated. He was getting off every night but it wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. What made it worse was that it wasn’t either of their faults. It would be easier if he had someone he could fight, but no. It was simply a fact they lived in two different cities.

Hwanwoong sighed after he dismissed the class, almost dreading going home. He had purple hair when Youngjo visited. Now it had faded into a pinkish blonde, yet he still couldn’t get used to his absence in his apartment. So he put it off, opting to shower at work and returning to the empty room once he was dressed.

He laid on the gleaming hardwood floor. For once, the studio was quiet. No music pulsed from the speakers and no students stayed behind to pull in some extra practice. He heard someone walk in and chose to ignore them. Currently, he found the studio lights much more interesting.

“Woong, get out of here. I need the studio.”

“Use Geonhak’s.” He really didn’t want to go home.

Keonhee came over, his lanky form blocking his view of the ceiling. It was childish, he knew, but he flipped over to his side to face the wall. He met the taller man’s eyes through their reflection in the mirror.

“He has a class, which you already know, and my company paid to rent this room.”

He kicked him lightly in a way that only longtime friends would be comfortable doing. It was enough to get Hwanwoong to stand up and collect his things. He could see Keonhee was on the verge of asking what was wrong, but he simply shook his head. There wasn’t much either of them could do about the situation, even if he did tell him.

He bade him goodbye, pulling his coat from the employee closet and stepping out the glass doors. He walked briskly; the evening November air nipped at his exposed cheeks and chilled his bones. The city was still busy at this hour. The roads were a sea of red lights. People rushed home or met up with friends for dinner. Briefly, he debated texting Dongju to eat out. He rejected the plan almost immediately. He only wanted one person’s company, and he wouldn’t be getting it. Not tonight at least.

Soon, he was at the familiar entryway of his building. He jogged in, bidding a quick hello to the owner as he took out the trash. The occupants’ muffled noises could be heard near their doors, but for the most part, it was quiet. The walls were thick and insulated. You paid extra for this kind of privacy in the city, but Hwanwoong needed it. He sometimes practiced in his apartment, and he didn’t relish the idea of being kicked out as he’d almost gotten before. He had the luxury of it with his dance channel’s earnings.

Hwanwoong took the stairs two steps at a time, avoiding staying in the chilly hallway any longer than necessary. He almost screamed when he got to his floor; a figure clad in all black sat in front of his door. He didn’t know who it was. He wasn’t expecting any guests, and the owners would’ve stopped anyone who looked suspicious.

The dancer debated running down and calling for the owner. In that brief second, the man noticed him and stood up. He pulled down the mask on his face. Now Hwanwoong was rooted in place for a different reason.

“Youngjo?”

The smile that greeted him in response melted him. But when the black-haired man pulled him into his arms for a kiss, it was anything but sweet. It was desperate, edgy and just a little painful as Youngjo suddenly bit his lower lip. His lips were quickly soothed with the swipe of his tongue. As they parted, Hwanwoong could only laugh breathlessly. He didn’t know how he could miss a kiss like that when they’d never done it before, but somehow he had.

“I’m happy to see you too.” He couldn’t stop grinning like a maniac.

“Sorry. I couldn’t stop myself.” Youngjo leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. A sense of deja vu came over the dancer. It was the same position as before, but this time it was hello rather than goodbye. “Hello, Woong.”

The younger melted into his chest, treasuring his warmth and reassuring himself that this was real, that he truly was with Youngjo. He felt lips touch the top of his head, hands softly stroking his back. When he finally pulled away, Hwanwoong kept one of his hands in his despite its cold temperature.

“How long were you out here?”

“Maybe 30 minutes? I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home from your class.”

At the answer, he was tugging Youngjo towards his door, fishing out his keys from his pocket. When it finally opened, he let the older man make himself at home. He switched on his electric kettle for some tea before taking off his coat. Arms wrapped around his waist from behind him while he was hanging it up.

Hwanwoong felt the weight of a head settle against his. The irritation that usually came with others doing the same wasn’t present with Ravn.

“What if I had plans? How long did you plan on waiting?”

“You would’ve told me you’d run late for our nightly call. I could’ve waited at a cafe.” Hwanwoong turned to face him. Youngjo tilted his chin up so their eyes could meet. His fingers were no longer icy, just cold. “I wanted to surprise you.”

He’d _missed_ him. His heart felt that much fuller being able to see his face, feel his warmth. When he brought his hand up to trace his features, Ravn leaned into it, kissing his palm. They stayed like that for a few minutes, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

The kettle let out a couple of shrill beeps to indicate the water was ready. The taller man pulled away, Woong gesturing for him to go ahead to his bedroom. It still felt surreal. They’d parted as something just beyond friends. Now Hwanwoong wouldn’t hesitate to call him his lover. He used the few minutes to prepare the tea to calm himself before carrying the tray over.

Youngjo was on his bed, browsing through his phone. When he looked up at his entrance, he smiled. His heart ached at the vision, knowing it was a fleeting one. He pushed the pain away. He would deal with his absence later. Right now he was here, and he would live in the moment.

“Woong, put that down and come here.” He gestured for the bed. Hwanwoong left the tray on his desk. When he tried to push Youngjo to move closer to the wall so he could have space, he simply shook his head.

“Then how am I supposed to sit beside you?”

“I wanted you here.” Youngjo gestured to the air in front of him. He said it so simply, his eyes big with the plea, that Woong found himself following without complaint. It was only when he was settled between his legs, his back to the black-haired man’s chest that the reality of the situation hit. _Jesus_. He really just fucking followed whatever he said without thinking. The shorter man had to bury his face in his hands, trying to muffle the hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble over.

“What’s up?” Youngjo’s warm breath blew past his ear. Suddenly the laughter ceased and he was hyperaware of their closeness. The promise they’d shared over the phone came to the forefront of his mind.

_Next time we’re doing it in the same bed._

“Woongie? Something up?” Youngjo’s arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against his body. He struggled against him, trying to stand up.

“I need to get the tea. It’s going to get cold.”

“I’m fine with that. Stay here.” He felt the warmth of his breath against his neck. An involuntary shudder ran down his back. He was sure Youngjo felt it. Yet he did nothing, simply holding him prisoner in his arms.

“Youngjo, please, let me go.”

“Face me then?”

“Why?” He cringed when it came out like a whine.

“I want to see your face. I’ve missed it.”

Hwanwoong’s cheeks felt like they caught fire. After the month of phone calls, he still couldn’t grasp how Youngjo could just say that kind of thing with a straight face. Reluctantly, he maneuvered around to face him, intending to move to the foot of the bed. The moment he faced him, however, he was forcibly pulled closer by hands on his waist. Now he was kneeling between his legs, for once looking down on the taller man. There was a smug expression on Youngjo’s face, his lips curved into a smirk.

It irritated Woong just as much as it turned him on.

“You knew, bastard.”

“Of course I did.” He used one hand to pull the dancer’s face closer. “You really think both of us could sit in this bed without imagining what we’ve been doing over the phone?”

Youngjo didn’t kiss him like he thought he would. Instead, he felt the scrape of teeth against his neck. They tugged at the fabric of the choker he wore, each pull driving him insane.

“The choker’s sexy.” He couldn’t respond. Not when Youngjo still had his nose buried in his neck, his breath hot against his exposed skin. The walls of his room offered no reprieve. His only comfort was that the producer sounded equally affected.

Youngjo’s hand touched the back of his head, coaxing him to face down. That was all the encouragement Hwanwoong needed. When their lips met, it was all bite and tongue. He wanted to get closer, _needed_ to feel him pressed against his body. He moved, only briefly breaking the kiss to adjust his position, straddling his lap. Like this, it was easier to kiss him. His hands made their way to Youngjo’s hair, instinctively tugging whenever there was a hint of pain, releasing when it was soothed. Youngjo’s hands slid underneath his shirt, the cool fingertips causing shudders to run across his spine.

He could feel Youngjo’s growing hardness rubbing against his ass. He couldn’t help it; he ground against it. Satisfaction filled him as he was rewarded with a guttural groan.

“Fuck, Woong.” It was fun seeing Youngjo’s composure break. Disheveled hair, swollen lips, unfocused eyes; it was better than he’d imagined. He was allowed a little revenge after being on the receiving end of his merciless teasing. “Slow down a little.”

“Don’t wanna.” The dancer nipped at Youngjo’s lips, grinding against him again. The older man didn’t respond. Did he push him too hard? As a seed of doubt planted itself in his gut, he was pulled down. Just moments before he was straddling the black-haired male’s lap; now he was being pinned against the bed. Large hands held his wrists immobile over his head while Youngjo’s knee between his legs kept him trapped underneath. He was caged in, yet it excited him more than frightened him.

“You’re a handful, you know that, right?”

Youngjo covered his mouth with his and all he could think about was the wet heat between them. He could feel him pressing him down against the bed, his weight its own form of pleasure. Then his lips moved away, pressing feather light kisses against his skin as he moved lower. He thought about how he could convince him to let go, then Youngjo bit his neck and there was no thinking, only wanting. Wanting to run his hands across his strong back, wanting to press himself so tightly against him it would be hard to tell where Youngjo ended and he began.

“Youngjo, please, let go.” His voice came out a whimper. He was grinding against his knee, not even aware of what he was doing.

“How about no?” The dancer could feel his lips curve into a smirk against his neck. The soft kisses didn’t stop as he felt cool air touch newly exposed skin, his shirt unbuttoned at some point. Youngjo trailed a hand across his chest, let his lips follow after. He couldn’t stop himself from arching into him when he felt his hot breath against his nipple.

“Youngjo, I’ll be good. Just let me touch you.” He felt his sharp intake of breath. He did nothing for a moment, then the tight grip on his wrists eased and he could finally move.

Woong felt his weight shift away from him. There wasn’t much left of his own clothes, so he let the shirt fall and then easily pulled down the elastic of his sweatpants. He watched Ravn undress; when their eyes met, his eyes were dark and troubled.

“Is something wrong?”

Almost instantly the cloud lifted. A small smile was on Youngjo’s lips. The taller man shared another kiss with him before answering, pushing him back down into the mattress with a light shove.

“Nothing, kitten. You just don’t know what you’re saying. I’ll teach you another time.” He reached over him, pulling open the drawer at his bedside table and triumphantly gripping a bottle of lube. At Hwanwoong’s surprised look, he chuckled. “I could hear a drawer squeak during our calls. I guessed it was this one.”

He let the tube warm up in his hands first, trailing kisses across Hwanwoong’s body. They went lower and lower. Youngjo sometimes replaced the press of his lips with the scrape of his teeth and leaving him guessing if the next that would come was pleasure or pain. As the black-haired man settled between his legs, he heard the sound of the lid open. He shuddered against the cold liquid, but it wasn’t a struggle to let the first finger through. Still, Youngjo took his time to let him acclimate, whispering praise and pressing his lips against his inner thighs in encouragement.

One finger became two. Each addition was a drawn-out process, driving Hwanwoong insane as Youngjo slid the digits in and out at a maddeningly slow pace. As far as the black-haired man was concerned, there was no rush. He simply held him down as the dancer tried to buck his hips against him.

Another finger added and Woong’s breathing grew labored. His face was flushed, desire clouded his eyes and he could only grip the sheets in purchase. When he felt him press against his prostate, he let out a broken moan, the sound foreign to his own ears. Youngjo’s fingers were so much longer than his own. He felt the difference after almost a month of stretching himself. He almost didn’t notice the fourth digit as Youngjo held his cock at the same time, stroking him from base to tip.

“I’m r-ready.” Youngjo didn’t need more encouragement than that. Woong heard the slide of a zipper, the crinkle of something being torn — a condom? Then there wasn’t room for any thought as he felt him enter, being stretched to fullness. He’d been prepped, but this was almost overwhelming.

As if sensing that, Youngjo leaned over him, pressing an almost chaste kiss against his lips. He didn’t move, even though Hwanwoong could feel the tension in his arms. Sweat dripped from his brow and his eyes were dark, but he held still. When he finally nodded, he felt him pull back, then quickly slam back in. Each thrust was ruthless, designed to push them both to the edge. He was being forced to hold still by the two hands on his hips. Even as he begged for Youngjo to touch him, a litany of pleading demands leaving his lips, the taller man simply shook his head. It was only when he was at his limit that he finally took mercy.

He adjusted their position and now with each thrust, Hwanwoong felt Youngjo jab against his prostate. His right hand was immobile, Youngjo’s hand pinning his wrist against the bed. The other was gripping the sheets. A large hand was on his hips, directing each thrust, making sure Youngjo was hitting the spot dead-on each time. Just when he was about to scream, Youngjo swallowed the sound. His mouth covering his and absorbed each noise that came out.

Hwanwoong shook, at the very edge. Just the smallest touch would let him come undone. Youngjo trailed kisses from his mouth to his ear, pressing a kiss against it. He moved much slower now, grinding against him in shallow thrusts.

“Are you close, Woong?”

He didn’t respond. He simply nodded his head as his breathing came in short gasps. When Youngjo slipped two fingers into his mouth, he sucked on them, too far gone.

“You did so well, kitten. I’ll let you come now.”

It was the praise, and the sudden thrust that had Woong spilling hot cum between them. He moaned around his fingers, tears leaking and drool spilling at the side. It was too much, yet not enough. He felt Youngjo chase his own orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic, but it did nothing to diminish the overwhelming pleasure. Then there was nothing, just the floating euphoria of pleasure overcoming his body.

Moments later he felt Youngjo stiffen and his weight collapse beside him. He hadn’t even noticed when his fingers left his mouth. He turned to face him. The two of them leaned in for a kiss at that exact moment. The feelings he had grew with each passing second, but Hwanwoong let it happen. He knew there was no stopping them.

They stayed like that for a while. Youngjo brought a hand to his face, stroked his cheek with his thumb. Then he got up, and instantly Hwanwoong felt the warmth go with him. He tried to muster the strength to follow, but all he managed was to raise his head a few inches above the pillow before collapsing back down. The dancer heard the sound of running water, then footsteps as Youngjo came back in.

He felt the damp cloth run over his body, cleaning him when he didn’t have the strength to even get up from the bed. He let him remove the choker, watched him place it on the bedside table. As Youngjo stood to leave, probably to throw the cloth into the laundry, Hwanwoong gripped his wrist.

“Thank you.”

He responded with a smile, the softest he’d seen all night, and a kiss against his forehead.

“Think nothing of it.”

  


The morning after, Hwanwoong burrowed deeper into the delicious warmth. He wore Youngjo’s shirt, his scent surrounding him. The clothes’ owner did the same, long limbs laying over him like a blanket. He didn’t have a class later — not that he would’ve gone even if there was. He rarely called in sick. He was willing to do it for today.

He felt Youngjo stir, his embrace tightening as he buried his nose in his hair.

“Morning.” The black-haired man’s voice was thick with sleep. He felt his lips touch his ear, then felt them shift from there to his temple, a trail of soft kisses in between. He tried to stop thoughts of reality from intruding. Woong wanted to bask in the glow of his presence just a little longer, uncaring of train rides and differing cities.

But it wasn’t meant to last. It was Youngjo who broke the illusion, getting up from the bed. Hwanwoong took a moment to admire the planes of his chest before he was rudely pulled along, dragged from bed to bathroom.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he was undressed, but being taken care of by him wasn’t it. Youngjo tested the heat of the water first, only pulling him under the spray when it was warm enough. He didn’t have to lift a finger; Youngjo shampooed his hair, ran the soap along his skin. He kept his touch light, only pulling him out of his dreamy haze when it was time to step out of the shower. There was so much lo—affection in the gesture. Hwanwoong didn’t dare say the word, even in his head. It would be painful enough to have him leave later. He was certain he’d have his heart ripped in two if he admitted he’d fallen in love.

As Youngjo smiled at him, a towel draped over his head as he helped him dry off own, Hwanwoong knew it was already too late.

They ate breakfast in silence. The dancer wanted to ask when he was leaving. He needed to prepare himself for the inevitable heartbreak. But every time he tried to speak the words, none came out, his voice stuck in his throat. So he dallied, letting breakfast pass quietly. Hwanwoong washed the dishes, taking the time to collect himself. Once they were both back in his bedroom, seated on his bed, he mustered the courage to ask.

“Youngjo.”

At the same time, the producer turned to him.

“Hwanwoong.”

They shared a laugh, diffusing the tension that had crept into the air. Woong shook his head, lavender hair bouncing with the movement. He let the elder speak first.

“How do you feel about a long-distance relationship, just for 3 more months?” The calm energy Hwanwoong normally associated with him was gone. He wasn’t looking at him, his gaze fixed on his bedroom wall. Nervousness colored his voice. “I’m waiting for my current contract to expire, but I’ve got a job lined up already. I understand if you can’t. But please, try, at least for a month more before you make the choice.”

He had to pick up his jaw he dropped somewhere on the floor.

“What do you mean by three more months?” He didn’t dare hope, not until he had an answer to that.

“Three more months. My old job I—” Youngjo slapped a hand over his face, laughing at himself. Hwanwoong only looked at him, confusion growing deeper with every second. “Right, I never said. You remember before I met you last month, I had a prior errand, which is why you picked me up at the subway?”

Hwanwoong nodded. He’d wondered about it but didn’t think it was his place to ask.

“It was a job interview.” He still didn’t understand, and something on his face must have said as much. “Hwanwoong, it was a job interview for this city. I was planning on moving here for the job if I got accepted; I got the news yesterday I did.”

Only then did everything make sense. Three months they would have to remain separate. But after those three months, they would live in the same city. No more pining away at the phone, trying to make do with each other’s voices. No more wishing he was near, substituting the warmth of a bed for the warmth of his body. If he could survive the next three months, they could see each other whenever they wanted.

His silence must have worried him because his eyes were full of trepidation as he held his hand. Hwanwoong didn’t have the words to properly express himself. He surprised them both when he threw himself at the taller man, pushing him down onto the bed. He didn’t need the words when Youngjo could probably feel his happiness from the gesture. Strong arms wrapped him in a tight hug.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’d have waited a whole year.” Hwanwoong looked up, meeting his dark brown eyes. He could see the happiness radiating from them, and knew his own were reflecting the same.

“Lucky for us, it’s only three months.”

“When do you go back?” There was no bitterness in the question. It was hard to be disappointed when he was getting more than he’d ever expected.

“Later tonight. I couldn’t wrangle more than a day off.”

Hwanwoong was already trying to pull off his shirt.

“Let’s make the most of it then.”

  


> _nation’s boyfriends, wbk_
> 
> _you guys are seriously moving in together wow_
> 
> _does this mean we’re getting more dance videos from ravn?_

Hwanwoong checked the replies on his latest twitter post. It was a picture of him and Youngjo, surrounded by boxes in their new apartment. A year had passed since they first met, and around eight months since Youngjo moved to his city. With the lease on his own place expiring and the producer actively looking for a bigger space, they decided to share.

“Woong, stop browsing twitter and help unpack.”

“Rest for a sec, we aren’t in a rush.” He patted the patch of floor next to him. He wasn’t sure why when he was literally leaning against an empty couch, but it felt fitting to stay on the ground when the apartment wasn’t ready yet.

Youngjo took a place beside him, pulling him closer by his waist. Hwanwoong simply leaned into his touch, resting his head against his shoulder. He turned on his camera and took a quick picture of the two of them, satisfied when he checked the preview after. His company didn’t bother looking. Then again, he’d never really been one for photos like these. It was the dancer who took them, and he was fine with that. He was content to pick and choose when he got to share his boyfriend with the world.

It was still a little surreal, having him next to him. He’d gone from admiring him as a fan to being He still kept burying his nose in him, remembering his scent and simply making sure it was all real. As if knowing his line of thought, the elder brought his hand to Hwanwoong’s chin, tilting his face up. The kiss they shared was sweet, a confirmation of something they both already knew.

The black-haired man stood up soon after, returning to the task at hand. Hwanwoong joined him, slipping his phone into his pocket. Later, when they were both in bed and Youngjo finally got the chance to browse his phone, he would see a notification from Hwanwoong’s account on twitter. He fought the blush on his face, stopped himself from shaking awake the sleeping blonde next to him. He wasn't one to share his feelings easily, and for him to do it in such a public way stunned him. Attached to the post was the photo in the subway from last year, and the photo he’d taken when they were both seated on the floor just hours earlier.

The text on the post consisted of only four words, the last of which was his tag.

> _I love you @pls9ravn._

**Author's Note:**

> I can finally put an end to 2019 knowing I finished the SNS AU I've been writing since mid-November. I started it shortly after finishing [Recovery Mode](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21199007) because I needed a break from the heavy angst. Then I just sat on it because I struggled a while with the sex scene lol. Here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/sunnyravn) if you ever feel inclined to strike up a conversation!


End file.
